


Prom Fever

by thehotinpsychotic



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Frerard, High School AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 05:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3278423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehotinpsychotic/pseuds/thehotinpsychotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank and Gerard have literally been best friends since preschool. The two grew up by each others sides, and they make an indisputable good team. It's not until junior year that Frank realizes he loves Gerard, that he has all along. Prom is just around the corner, and it seems like everyone is getting asked. What's a more romantic way to confess your deep love for someone than by asking them to a high school dance?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

    I was nervous, so nervous. I’d spent the majority of my five years in the hospital, and when I wasn’t in the hospital, I was at home, and when I wasn’t at home, I was back in the hospital. The closest thing I ever had to any sort of interaction with kids my own age was in the children’s ward, but even then, most of the kids ignored me due to the fact that I was majorly bed ridden. Who would want to play with a kid that can’t even walk? So they’d all play amongst themselves, and from up on the bed, I’d watch, watch them skip, laugh, and play, play like kids were supposed to.

      Play is a child’s instinct, starting with solitary play by themselves, and eventually ending up in cooperative play. Literally any kid can do it; it’s about as universal as breathing. I was a master in solitary play thanks to hours and hours of being sentenced to bed rest, toy cars and action figures my only company. But parallel play? Nonexistent. Cooperative play? Never heard of it. It was these milestones that I missed, and it was those lost skills that fucked me over.

      I remember showing up on the first day of preschool, clutching my mother’s hand as if God and all of the angels depended on it. My mother began to talk with the teacher, and so I stood quietly at her side, gazing around the room. We were early on that first day, and at that young age, the lack of children was unsettling. I felt as though it was not a preschool, but instead some sort of sick trap designed to lure kids into avian fusion experiments, annual sacrifice, or worse, an eight hour long screening of _Between The Lions._ I wasn’t sure which horrible fate I was going to suffer under, but I was certain that it would be awful.

      “And who is this little guy?”

      It was that moment that I peered into the icy eyes of death, the pawn of whichever system organized this disaster. The dastardly villain wore a floral pencil skirt along with a matching red blouse. Her hair was done up into a tight bun, a few strands hanging free. I was quaking in my boots.

      I hid behind my mother’s legs, gripping onto the fabric of her pants with all I had. My own mother betrayed me, stepping aside and pushing me towards the enemy, exposing her own son to the brutal hands of torture. “This is Frank.”

      “Frank, we’re going to have fun,” she lied. She’d placed a hand on my back, guiding me towards the so-called play mat, away from my mother.

      I’d screamed, wriggled, and kicked, eventually smacking the woman straight in the face. My mother came rushing back over, stroking my hair and stammering, “I-I am _so_ sorry, Ms. Stammen. He really is a sweet boy; he’s just having a bit of separation anxiety.”

      I was proud of myself, having hit the face of death straight in the cheek. I was sure that I was triumphant, that my mother would take me home and things would go back to normal, or, what I assumed was normal.

      But no, the woman, ‘Ms. Stammen’, merely laughed, assuring, “It’s completely normal; I see it all the time. He’ll adjust in sure time.”

      My mom had spun me to face her, crouching down to my eye level. “Frankie, please be nice to everyone. I’ll be back to pick you up, okay?” She gave me a final hug before leaving, and I was torn from her grip by Ms. Stammen.

      My mother was gone by the time I had looked for her, and so I had no choice but to comply. I sat on the rubber play mat, wary still of everyone around me.

      One of the children approached me, scooting over and sitting next to me. He gave me one of the dolls he had been holding, squeaking, “I’m Gewawd, hi!”

      “Gewawd?” I repeated. I turned the doll around in my hand, noting the bite marks on its legs.

      He nodded, dusting his hands off on the front of his overalls. “Who’re you?”

      “Frank,” I replied.

      He nodded, mumbling, “Fwank.”

      “No, no no. _Frank,_ ” I corrected.  

      Again he bobbed his head, reiterating, “Fwank.”

      “Frank?”

      “Fwank.”

      I shook my head, realizing it was useless to try to get him to say my name correctly; he couldn’t say his r’s. I tossed the doll to the floor, sighing.

      “You don’t want to play?” Gerard pouted.

      I shook my head, instead questioning, “Are you a boy or girl?”

      “I’m a boy,” Gerard answered, nose scrunched.

      I reached a hand into his hair, pulling out the butterfly barrette I had spotted. I held it up, telling, “These are for girls.”

      Gerard shook his head, insisting, “No they’re not. My brother and I wear them all the time.”

      “They’re meant for girls,” I explained. “Boys don’t wear them.”

      Gerard stood, snapping, “ _I_ wear them.”

      I too rose to my feet, replying, “Then you’re a girl.”

      That was the day that Gerard gave me a goose egg. He’d tackled me and I hit my head on the bookshelf, and I started crying, which made him start crying, and the whole thing was just a sobbing mess. The teacher made us apologize, but by that point, we were both ready to.

      And after that apology, Gerard had given me a matching plastic barrette from his overall front pocket. You better believe that I put that flimsy thing in my hair. And the rest, well, that was history.

      Gerard and I were inseparable from that day forward. Elementary school was packed with sleepovers and birthday parties, middle school with ballgames, and our first two years of high school were spent mainly at his house and in the school building itself.

      But this year, junior year? This year is going a little different. We haven’t really grown apart at all; we still hang out plenty, it’s just that...

      I’ve recently come to grips with the fact that I am in love with my best friend, Gerard Way.


	2. Chapter 2

                School has gotten quite bland lately. The only thing keeping me going there (besides the government regulation of education) is Gerard. He is literally the best part of my day, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s a little sad.

            Gerard is only in four of my classes throughout the school day, which is relatively a lot, but still not enough for me. We spend the first two hours of the day together in Chemistry and then in College Algebra, and then I see him again fifth period for vocal, and once more seventh period for Gifted and Talented. It’s during these class periods that I give it my all, because is this damn school, I only really care about what Gerard thinks about me. Not the principal, not the girl next door, and not anyone else.

            We’re sitting in Chemistry that day, and it’s the last few minutes of the class, so the teacher let us talk. Within a minute of the allowed speaking time Gerard announced, “So Jamia got asked to prom.”

            Jamia is Gerard’s friend, and I’m going to have to emphasize that she’s _Gerard’s_ friend, not _mine._ I’ve never met her, but based off of some of Gerard’s stories about her, I’m not really sure if I ever want to.

            “Huh,” I mutter.

            “Yeah, it’s crazy,” Gerard mumbles. “Kids are getting asked left and right and I’m just here spilling cereal on myself and shit.”

            It’s then that my heart skips some beats. I wish I had the balls to ask him right now, but unfortunately, all I can muster is, “Well, you never know. Maybe someone will ask you this week.”

            Gerard rolls his eyes, replying, “Pfft, doubt it.”

            “Don’t be so bitter,” I laugh. I nudge his shoulder, adding, “You never know.”

            Gerard raises an eyebrow. “Prom is two weeks away. I’m no idiot, Frank.”

            I’m about to object when the bell rings, and Gerard stands up so fast that I can’t keep up. “Gerard, wait!”

            I gather my things quickly and jog after him, telling, “Maybe they’re shy.”

            Gerard shrugs, answering, “That’s a good point.” He winces, adding, “ _But_ even if they were shy, they should be able to get over it if they really want to go that bad.”

            Frank keeps that advice in his head, and at that moment he really wants to say it, just one word at the least. Prom? That’s all he needs.

            But that one syllable catches in his throat, and he’s left totally speechless as he follows Gerard to their next class.

            “Besides, I don’t want to go,” Gerard mumbles. “I don’t like anyone; I wouldn’t have fun there.”

            “I guess that’s true,” I agree. I feel a little better knowing that he doesn’t have an interest for two reasons. One of the reasons is knowing that his feelings aren’t hurt by not being asked, and the other reason is the assurance that I can put off asking him out.

            The math class ends up being a study hall, which basically turns into several cliques branching off and discussing whatever. Gerard and I spend the majority of the period playing Paper Wars.

            Paper Wars is a game Gerard and I made up some four years ago, and he often jokes about getting it patented. All you need to play is a sheet of paper and some writing utensils. One person starts the game by drawing a non-threatening animal or object. Then, the other person must draw something that can beat that previous drawing. The next person must draw something to defeat that, and the game just carries on and on until someone gives in. It can last anywhere from two minutes to two hours, and it’s quite the waste of time. Gerard and I waste time a lot; it’s the only way to get back at our parents without actually risking our futures.

            Gerard invites me to his house after school as usual; we have youth group tonight, which means that I have to stay in town until seven p.m. to attend.  Being invited to Gerard’s house means that I get to ride home with him, and this means that Gerard, his little brother Mikey, and I all pile into Gerard’s tiny piece of shit car and head off to his house.

            Things are going as typical as ever; we’re not there for two minutes when Mikey goes off to his room to do his own thing, leaving us in the living room.

            I’m just chilling, his dog sitting in my lap. Gerard’s dog is a Chihuahua named Scout, and Gerard frequently refers to it as “the damned thing”. It poops in the house, runs off, and snips at Gerard when he tries to pick it up. In fact, Scout fucking hates Gerard. The only person it really likes is me. It’s not because I’m good with dogs either; Toro came over once and Scout nearly took his fucking hand off. Can you believe that? We’re talking about Ray, the kid who hunts with multiple dogs all the time.

            “Frank, I want to sleep,” Gerard groans.

            I scratch behind Scout’s ear, getting his leg going. “Then sleep. I’ll come with you.”

            Gerard raises a brow. “And _watch_ me sleep?”

            I laugh and blush slightly, shaking my head. “No, you misunderstood. I’ll sleep too; I’m fucking tired.”

            We ventured off into Gerard’s little dungeon of a room, this basement with one foot by foot window and poor ventilation, heating, and lighting. Gerard trades his skinny jeans for a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, and he hands me a pair patterned with Gir from Invader Zim. I slip into the pants and join Gerard in bed, who’s already close to dozing off.

            And I can’t sleep. I just lay there for over an hour, listening to the sound of Gerard’s breathing and willing myself to shut down. I just lay back and wonder, wonder if _this_ is enough.

            Glancing over at Gerard, I know it’s not. What we have is great, and call me greedy, but I want more. I don’t just want it, I need it, I need to know that the boy cares about me as much as I care about him.

            But promises made are not necessarily promises kept. And in this case, I failed to get a fucking vow.


	3. Chapter 3

       When we ship off to youth group later that night, Gerard seems… out of it.

       Usually, Gerard leads our small group in prayer. He’s not assigned to do so; it’s just the way things have always gone. Gerard has always had that leadership quality when it came to his faith. Besides, the rest of the kids, myself included, are either too shy or don’t care. I fall into the too shy category, and Mikey’s with the kids that couldn’t give a shit about God if they tried. In fact, Mikey may or may not be an atheist; he only goes to youth group because some kid named Pete Wentz attends on a regular basis. 

       Mikey has been talking about this Pete kid nonstop. So much that Gerard has made a rule that for every time Mikey says Pete’s name, he gets punched in the arm.

       Despite how much Mikey has been going on and on about the kid, I’ve hardly seen Mikey say two words to him. I figure he must be shy, just like me. I try to promise myself that if Mikey ever gets the courage to say whatever he needs to say to Pete, that’ll be the day I tell Gerard how I feel.

       Gerard furrows his brows as he listens to the minister. I nudge him with my elbow, startling him slightly. He blinks slowly, muttering, “Frank.”

       “What’s up?” I ask.

       He opens his mouth as if he’s about to tell me, then snaps it shut, shaking his head slightly. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

       “Obviously you’re lying,” I challenge. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”

       Gerard flinches at my tone, whispering, “Can we please not talk about this right now? Maybe it’s not your business for once, Frank.”

       “So I should just butt out?” I demand.

       “Yeah,” Gerard hisses. “Just butt out.”

       I cross my arms in a huff, glaring at Gerard, who refuses to meet my eyes.

       It’s going to be a long night.

       Despite our slight argument, Gerard drives me home; although he is rather quiet when doing so. Mikey’s just sitting in the backseat, kicking the back of my seat with boredom as we all sit in the car silently.

       I text Gerard that night, after I’ve cooled down a bit. From personal experience with my anger, I know that it’s best to wait for myself to relax before doing or saying anything else. The last thing I’d want to do in this particular situation is say the wrong thing and push Gerard away even further.

       I message him: what was wrong earlier? do you want to talk about it? I’m just worried

       It takes a long time for him to message me back, so long that I wonder if he’s just ignoring me. Finally, he responds: nothing. I was just tired.

       I roll my eyes, knowing that this is far from the truth. “I’m tired” is Gerard’s go-to excuse. Come hell or high water, Gerard will resort to that exact statement, whether you are accusing him of negativity or theft.

       But I don’t want to make him any angrier than he probably already is. So instead of telling him I can see through that, I just reply: that’s good get some rest though

       I lay back on my bed, knowing that something must really be up. Gerard has come to me with everything since kindergarten; his parent’s divorce, his depression, even when he had problems with wetting the bed in first grade he told me. Gerard has trusted me with literally everything since the beginning of our friendship, so whatever’s going on now must be really deep shit.

       Or maybe our relationship’s just changing. Are Gerard and I growing apart? Does he not feel like he can tell me these things anymore?

       I suppose he hasn’t been talking as much as he usually does. Normally, he’d talk a mile a minute, and with such consistent frequency that a single day could make up a novel’s worth of mostly irrelevant information. But lately, while he hasn’t been totally stone silent, he’s definitely been less talkative than usual.

       And I still don’t know what he’s been doing with those girls he’s been with. He’s been around Jamia a lot, as well as some senior named Lindsey. I don’t even know this Lindsey, but it seems lately like she’s all he has time for.

       A big part of me thinks he might be having sex, and that fear makes my stomach churn and my chest cave in. I cannot stand the idea of Gerard being with anyone else, and not because I’m the best option but because I feel like I should come first for once. To be loved a little by many doesn’t mean much, but to be loved fully by one is the world.

       Anne Frank herself was intelligent enough to make the point that you can become lonely even when surrounded by loving friends and family. To be everyone’s second, third, fourth, or last choice, is something that can make you feel like you really don’t matter.

       And while I might not be worthy of a first choice, it’d still be nice to not feel unloved most of the time.

       That’s how I’ve been feeling lately. Unloved, and it fucking hurts to see Gerard running around with all these girls doing things that health class preached against. And to not even tell his best friend about it. I’d always thought that while he may not love me romantically, he cared about me as a person. That if given the chance, he’d give an arm for me just like I’d lose my life for him. I really had this strong belief that I was important to him, this faith that while he may not think about me the way I think about him, he still fucking thought about me.

       He’s the top priority in my mind. He’s my night and my day and all that falls between it and the stars themselves couldn’t pose a threat to the way I love him.

       To feel like this and simultaneously be his plan B is excruciating.

      

      


	4. Chapter 4

     The next day at school is surprisingly normal. Gerard acts as though nothing had happened the night before, and I keep trying to get a true answer out of him, being interrupted or having the subject changed on me with each attempt.

     It’s lunch when everything goes wrong.

     I’m sitting with Gerard, as usual, and trying not to notice how Gerard’s barely picking at his food when that Lindsey girl comes over.

     Lindsey, as I said before, is a senior. She’s this tall punk chick with dark hair and eyes that could probably beat me up. While I’m not the biggest fan of her, I don’t know her well enough to have a reason to dislike her, so I try to keep an open mind.

     Any hope of that neutral state was destroyed that lunch hour. She sits down next to Gerard, and I assume that she just has a quick question for him or something.

     That’s when the words come out of her mouth.

     “Prom?”

     My stomach dropped the moment it left her lips. As I waited for Gerard to answer, I subconsciously brought my nails to my mouth and began gnawing at them.

     Gerard gave me a sideways glance before nodding to Lindsey. “Yeah. Sure.”

     Lindsey cracked her gum, replying coolly, “Rad. I’ll pick you up at eight, loser.” She stood, messing up Gerard’s hair before heading back to her table.

     I can’t believe the feeling I endure soon after she leaves. My chest feels as though it’s caving in on itself, and I struggle not to cry.

     Was I going to ask Gerard to prom? Maybe! I’m still bitter about whether or not he cared about me, but surely that couldn’t have lasted! I was getting to it in my own good time, but any chance for me to take him is now ruined, wiped out with four fucking letters.

     She hadn’t even prepared anything special; she asked him out with a fucking syllable. What if she doesn’t even like him? What if she’s just using him? Or what if it’s all some elaborate prank that ends with a sobbing Gerard doused in pigs’ blood?

     The thoughts are all too much to bear.

     Gerard looks over at me, and he touches my arm, asking in a low voice, “Frank, are you okay?”

     And I want so badly to lie to him, to say that everything is just peachy and I’m totally fine with what just happened.

     But I never had a convincing poker face.

     I literally burst into tears right there in the cafeteria.

     Gerard knows something is wrong, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s also aware of the fact that I have a history of depression, so he doesn’t link my crying as a consequence of him going to prom with Lindsey. He just sees it as one of my ‘adolescent moments’. He just puts a hand on my back, assuring, “It’s okay, Frank. Everything’s fine.”

     But things are definitely not okay. All I know at that moment is that the boy I love not only doesn’t return the feelings, but he’s in love with someone else, someone he’d place over me at any given minute. I knew I wasn’t his number one, but seeing who’d kicked me out of that top spot was heart wrenching. He barely even knows this Lindsey chick; he met her this year! How could he pick her over me?

     “Frank, calm down,” Gerard coaxes.

     I sob just as loudly, managing, “I can’t calm down!”

     “What’s wrong?” Gerard whispers. He’s starting to now take more notice of everyone starting to stare, and so he grabs me by the shoulder of my jacket and lifts me, dragging me into the bathroom.

     He closes and locks the door, setting me up on the sink. He picks at his hands for a while, scared to meet my eyes. I would be too; by that point I’m shaking almost violently.

     Gerard makes me rest my head back as he wets paper towels, then pressing them against my forehead and cheeks. It reminds me of a surgeon being dabbed at with sponges in an effort to control profuse sweating, and I can’t help but giggle. The laugh comes out all sporadic and choppy through my tears, and I think the uncalled for chuckling only alarms Gerard more.

     “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” he asks. It’s the first thing he’s said in a while, and the words come out of his mouth like they were recited millions of times.

     I shrugged, lying, “I don’t really know what’s wrong, to be honest.”

     Gerard nods, adding, “You know, you scared me there. You can tell me anything, alright?”

     It so isn’t true, no matter how much I want to believe it is. If I told Gerard right then and there that I loved him, what kind of friend would I be? He gets asked to prom by a beautiful girl he has an obvious interest in, a girl that’s probably a lot more of a catch than I am. It’d be pretty shitty of me to drop the bomb right then.

     So I hold my tongue. I decide not to tell him. Maybe once prom is over, and Gerard fucks Lindsey in some shady motel the night of and never talks to her again, maybe then I can tell him the truth. And if that’s not what happens, if Gerard actually falls for her and they begin to date then…

     What will I do then? Continue to stay quiet? What if they’re one of those couples that go straight from high school sweethearts to spouses? I’d never get my chance; Gerard would have no idea.

     I glance over at Gerard, see him checking his reflection in the midst of all this. Just by looking at him, I feel like maybe it’s best that he be oblivious. It’s fine for me to keep it to myself; I’m used to being hurt. I’m fragile; I’m supposed to break. But Gerard… to see him hurt would be the literal end of me.

     I would do anything to protect Gerard, even if that means virtually tossing myself under a train.


	5. Chapter 5

I end up sleeping over at Gerard’s place that night. He tells me that he’s worried about me; that he doesn’t want to leave me alone for too long. I only half buy into it, and not because I don’t believe him, but because I don’t hear him. I nod somberly, all of my senses and cognition numb from the day’s events. 

I feel downright nauseous, completely sick to my stomach. Do you know what the worst part is? The information has yet to fully sink in. As I said, my thinking processes are slowed almost to the point of a halt, and I remain in a hazy, disoriented fog for the remainder of my day. 

We get to Gerard’s house and my head’s starting to spin a little bit. I take the first opportunity I see to take a seat, and that’s when Gerard leads me down to his room in the basement. 

Gerard’s room is as cluttered as his head; a beautiful disaster that only makes sense to him, or people similar enough to him. I suspect he keeps it this way on purpose. After all, he always says how a clean room and a made bed is a tidy person that’s emotionally dead. 

Gerard chuckles when he sees me laid out spread eagle in his desk chair. What he doesn’t understand is that at the moment, I am terribly lightheaded.

We don’t do much. We just hang out, which mostly consists of me on my phone, and Gerard drawing while the same Brand New album plays on repeat. Occasionally I’ll show Gerard something funny off my phone, and he’ll tear away from his drawing just long enough to watch, but as soon as the two sentence joke is read or the seven second video is watched, he’s moved on, I’ve moved on, and we’re both totally over it. It’s awful, the disposability of things we think we care about. 

We’ve become an old married couple; fallen victim to patterns. We used to be so spontaneous, so original. We’d entertain each other for hours on end, and each moment was the buildup, climax, or downslide of an adventure. It kept us guessing and that made us happy. 

Now we just sit there. We sit in the same spots and in the same positions and play the same pop punk album and just let the hours roll. The friendship between Gerard and I has become as static as the ground we walk on. Nothing changes and nothing thrives and its making me contemplate if we’re really that good of friends; if we ever were in the first place. We met by chance, a total fluke. Our high school is big enough so that if I hadn’t met him that day of preschool, it’s quite possible I never would’ve known more than his name. I wonder if that’d be better. To have never met Gerard, to have gone about my daily labors without him by my side. The question isn’t whether I’d live; I’d find a way to manage, but whether I’d have any friends or not. Would I have the ability to branch out and make friends with kids I didn’t like? Could I sit there and listen to the guys talk about who fucked Sara Hanson under the bleachers of the football field and which hard liquor they preferred? I picture myself in a varsity letterman jacket and involuntarily cringe. 

Gerard must feel me shudder; he asks, “Frank? Are you okay?”

“Wh- y-yeah,” I mumble. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good,” Gerard replies. He lets out a sigh, and not like one of those tired ones, and not like a forced one, but just this melancholy, prolonged sigh that pries the hairs from the back of my neck. 

“Something wrong?” I question, and I feel an awful lot like a wife consulting her husband after a hard day at work. 

Gerard shakes his head, answering, “I’m just thinking a lot.”

“What about?” This is a question I’ve asked Gerard about 8 thousand times over the span of our friendship, and I don’t think I’ve gotten a straight forward answer once. I’m expecting the usual; some long pause followed by a bullshit statement or nothing at all. 

But this time, Gerard responds almost instantly. “People. I’m thinking about people.”

“Broad subject,” I chuckle. “Care to elaborate?”

“They surprise you, don’t they?” Gerard says. He grins sort of stupidly, and some roses cluster in his cheeks. 

“Why are you blushing?” I scoff. “Are you warm?”

Gerard’s face only grows hotter, and instead of answering my question, he just rolls over, putting his back to me. 

“Gerard?” I ask. 

“Goodnight, Frank,” Gerard dismisses. 

He doesn’t sound mad. I know he’s at least a little irritated; I probably should’ve backed him up about how great it was Lyn-Z asked him out rather than demand an explanation for his body’s involuntary processes. I really suck at this whole ‘being supportive of your little girlfriend’ thing, and not because I’m a bad person to talk to in general. In fact, I’ve had a lot of girls cry on my shoulder and tell me that I don’t just hear, but I listen. Girls like to gossip with me or confess things because they assume I’m gay. They assume I’m gay because of what the football players say, and the football players think I’m gay because they’re football players and I’m not. While my sexuality is not of importance at the moment, the circumstances of my current situation are. I’m a great listener, most of the time. If Lyn-Z broke Gerard’s heart and he came to me for help, I’d be a little more willing to oblige. But if I knew he was just going to crawl from my arms back into hers, well, I may not be such a good Samaritan. 

And it’s selfish, to not be there for him. To not share the excitement of his first prom date is a petty thing to do, and I’m fully aware of this fact, but I just can’t stop it. 

The heart wants what it wants, and this heart wants nothing to do with the name Lyn-Z.


	6. Chapter 6

I'm not a person who dreams a lot. Actually, let me rephrase that. In the existential sense, I suppose I am one who spends a lot of time in my figurative upstairs. That's a different kind of dreaming, though. The type of dreaming I don't usually engage in is the kind that hits you when you're asleep, more vulnerable than ever. 

While I don't dream often, the dreams that I do have tend to be extremely vivid and entirely accurate to whatever's going on in my life. Those dreams come in such an intensity that they make up for what they lack in quantity. 

That night at Gerard's, I have one of those dreams. 

I sleep on his floor. I haven't slept on his floor, like,  _ever,_ but I feel the need to tonight. It's bad enough knowing that I won't be the one to rent the limo or buy the corsage or whatever it is that kids do for prom; I don't need to have him breathing all nice and soft just beside me on top of that. 

So I lay right face down on that crummy carpet of his. Coated with stray paints drops and pastel tracings and god knows what else, that's the one. Scout undoubtedly did his business here once or twice.

I don't fall asleep for what feels like a long time. An awful lot of time is spent on that grimy floor just thinking, and a lot of those thoughts are of remorse for myself. I mourn my own personal tragedy like it's a fucking Nicholas Sparks movie. 

With thoughts like that, it’s no wonder I have such a wild dream.

All I really remember about the dream is Gerard being totally unreachable. Something about how I was in trouble and he couldn’t- or wouldn’t, help. I kept grasping for him, kept grabbing at him, but always fell short. I wake up around six drenched in a cold sweat.

Knowing that I can’t go back to sleep after that dream, I rise, stretching my arms towards the ceiling. I peer over at Gerard to see him sleeping soundly, mouth slightly open and all. The room is still dim; I blindly stumble over to his desk, careful not to make noise.

Checking his phone, I see that his alarm isn’t due for another hour. I groan softly, glancing over at my sorry excuse for a bed. Briefly considering spending the next hour in shriveled blankets over a shag carpet, I dismiss the thought, opting for a shower instead.

Luckily for me, Gerard and I had picked up clothes at my house the night before. I grab these in one arm, a bundle of jeans, socks, a shirt, underwear, and of course a mandatory hoodie, and start up the steps.

I take my time; Gerard’s steep wooden stairs are prone to creaking noises. Each painstaking howl seems like enough to wake up the entire neighborhood. Thankful for Gerard’s heavy sleeping habits, I reach the top, then turning into the living room where I see a figure in the middle of the den area.

I stifle a surprised gasp, clasping a hand over my mouth. Squinting in the darkness, my hand gropes the nearby wall for a light switch. Finding the thing, I switch it on, scrunching my eyes further at the offending light.

Standing there dressed skimpily in grey cotton trunk styled undies, I see no one other than Pete Wentz. He has his own bundle of clothing tucked under one arm and his shoes in his free hand. He turns to face me and turns the color of the Ways’ overstuffed leather loveseat, bringing his small collection of clothing over his crotch. He tries to speak, but all that really comes out is, “I… I… err… uh…”

“Don’t break yourself, jeez,” I scoff. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes go wide, and he stammers, “I… uh… nothing. What are _you_ doing here?”

“Gerard invited me,” I retort.

“Well, Mikey invited me,” Pete counters.

“He better have,” I growl. I stride towards him, and he actually cowers from me a bit, being a freshman and everything. I always forget that these kids look up to me, not in the literal sense because of my height, but in a figurative sort of way. “If you hurt anyone in this family, I will fucking end you, Wentz. You got it?”

Pete nods dumbly, the color drained from his face.

Peeking over the clump of clothing he has, I smirk and comment, “Cute boy shorts.”

After that, the redness returns to his face, and he sort of mumbles, “Thanks.”

I proceed to the Ways’ bathroom and Pete makes for the door. I stop, calling to him softly so as not to wake anyone, “Pete!”

Pete looks at me once more with those big stupid brown eyes of his.

“Be good to Mikey,” I order. “He’s a nice guy.”

Pete again nods, mustering up the courage to assure, “I will.” With that, he opens the Way’s sliding glass door, slinking off into the early morning light.

I reach the shower, slipping out of my pajamas. In just my underwear, I start to think about Gerard and Lyn-Z again. Taking them off and stepping into the shower, my head gets heavier with the idea of those two on prom night. Gerard will buy her a beautiful corsage that matches his rented cummerbund that matches his borrowed tie that matches her perfect fucking dress.

Goddamn it.

Lathering shampoo into my hair and not even noticing it’s Gerard’s mother’s scented jasmine concoction, these concepts just continue. He’ll take her in his shitty little car that she’ll make him clean just for her and they’ll both laugh about how they should’ve gotten a limo. They’ll get to the dance and won’t actually do much dancing so much as grinding and groping. The dance will wind down so he’ll take her to this shady motel where he’ll check four times that his car is locked before leading her inside their shitty room.

Down they’ll go on that nasty mattress with mysterious stains and a vague, but foul odor. He’ll take off her dress and shimmy it down her body and he’ll have a lot of trouble undoing the clasp to her bra but they’ll just giggle about it and… and…

I give my head a good pound with the side of my fist. I’m used to feeling like I’m drowning, but for the first time, the metaphorical waters are neck deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> overdue update, yes I know. someone told me to pick this one back up and I had a lot of fun writing the new chapter! this one will be continued after all. 
> 
> please comment, and leave a kudos behind if you enjoyed it!


	7. Chapter 7

            I spend a lot of time in the shower that morning, partially because of my jumbled thoughts, and also due to the amount of time I donate to distracted masturbation.

            It seems I masturbate more and more these days. When I was fourteen, boy, I felt pretty confident my libido had peaked. Just as it was starting to mellow itself out the way it’s supposed to, I have to go and fall for my best friend.

            Basically, Gerard is the direct cause of my excessive masturbation. I mean, it’s not like I _think_ about him when I do it or anything, but… he just… it’s hard to be around him for how many hours and try to never be turned on.

            I head downstairs, expecting Gerard to be at least considering getting out of bed at this point. Alas, he’s still asleep, one socked foot hanging off the mattress and his arm wedged between the bed and his wall.

            I groan, returning to the floor for lack of better activity. I go through my phone for a while, staying there until Gerard’s alarm finally goes off.

            The drowsy fuck takes about five minutes to get up and turn his alarm off. Even then, he stumbles back to bed and falls beneath the covers.

            “Oh no you don’t,” I mutter, rising. I reach over Gerard and shake him, ordering, “Get up.”

            Gerard moans sleepily, swatting at me weakly. “Five more minutes.”

            I refuse to take that as an answer, shaking him harder. “Come on, Gerard.”

            Gerard groans, complaining, “Get off me.”

            I tear his blanket off of him, tossing it to the floor. Watching him reach for it blindly and then proceed to panic, he finally wakes up shivering.

            “Morning, sunshine,” I greet, tossing the comforter back at Gerard.

            “Ugh,” Gerard grumbles, sitting up slowly. “How are you up already?”

            “I woke up kind of early,” I admit. “Couldn’t sleep very well.”

            Gerard frowns. “Why not?”

            I shrug, lying, “Just one of those nights.”

            Gerard stretches his arms over his head, deciding, “I guess I’ll get up, too.”

            “You’ll never guess who I saw this morning,” I share.

            Swinging his legs over his mattress and standing, Gerard asks, “Who?”

            He crosses the room and starts digging through his dresser for clothing. I follow him, telling, “Pete Wentz.”

            Gerard stops. “What was Pete doing here?”

            “I dunno,” I reply honestly. “But in all honesty, he was probably fooling around with Mikey.”

            Gerard sputters, “Uh- you can’t know that for sure!”

            “Gerard, he was sneaking out in his underwear,” I reason. “He had to be.”

            Gerard shakes his head, mumbling, “Damn kids.”

            He goes up to shower, leaving me alone in his room for a while. Already bored of my phone, I lean over Gerard’s bed, peering at everything pinned up on his bulletin board.

            Everything and anything is tacked to that thing. Letters, sheets of stickers, old candy grams, coupons, receipts, sheet music, photos, you name it. Amongst the mess, there is one particular thing that always sticks out, a shitty older photo of Gerard and I from first grade. It’s only shitty because of the camera grade; the picture is washed out, underdeveloped, grainy, and all the like. But the content of the photo itself is priceless; it shows Gerard up on my shoulders right as we tip over. Gerard loves the photo, and he always jokes about doing a fifteenth anniversary retake, but we both know our expressions are something that cannot be replicated.

            Brining myself up the stairs, I paw halfheartedly through the Ways’ cabinet, not totally in the mood to eat. Rarely enough, I eat only because I have to, not because I want to.

            I dig out a box of cereal and fix myself a bowl, making myself comfortable at their dining room table.

            Gerard joins me after some time, and Mikey is the last to finally stomp down the steps and fill his traveling mug with black coffee.

            “So,” I begin, taking another bite of my now soggy cereal. “What were you up to last night, Mikes?”

            Mikey squints. “Nothing, why?”

            “That’s funny,” Gerard mentions. “Because Frank here actually bumped into Pete this morning.”

            Mikey about chokes on air, stammering, “W-what?”

            “He has a nice body, Mikey,” I joke. “Of course, it’s easy to tell when he’s trying to slip off into the night wearing nothing but his skivvies.”

            Mikey buries his head into the table, murmuring, “That fucking dork, I told him to get dressed beforehand.”

            “I think you’re missing the point,” Gerard chuckles.

            Mikey nods, confessing, “We’re dating, okay? There.”

            “Are you guys going to prom?” Gerard pries. “I mean, Pete’s a junior and all. You could get matching tuxes or something, that could be cute.”

            “Jesus, stop riding my dick,” Mikey growls. He grabs his mug, rushing outside. “I’ll be waiting in the car.”

            Gerard rolls his eyes, and I mumble, “Kids these days.”

            Gerard giggles, brushing off his hands before rising to follow Mikey. I do the same, trotting slightly to keep up with Gerard’s longer strides.

            Anytime I get the chance that day, I shoot Pete a knowing look followed by a wink. It never fails to make him blush and break eye contact. It’s by far the most entertaining asset I’ve had in a long time.

            That in itself makes for a pretty good morning. Well, a fair morning. I mean, Gerard’s still going to prom and I’m still not the one to take him and that sucks. At least I have the comfort knowing that I can practically have Pete flustered on demand.

            The point is, the day is shaping up alright by the time I get to lunch. Just as I remark about the day’s quality, that’s when it comes crashing down. I’m always one to jinx good things, and I fuck up majorly in this aspect that day.

            That is, I approach my lunch table feeling all smitten and whatnot, not even realizing that Lyn-Z is all but in Gerard’s lap in _my_ seat.

          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave behind a kudos if you enjoyed it! I should be updating soon, but in the meantime, feel free to check out my other works!


	8. Chapter 8

That brings my lovely day to a halting stop pretty damn quick. It’s not the fact that Lyn-Z is in my seat, and it’s totally not the fact that she’s currently nibbling on Gerard’s earlobe. No, the thing that’s bothering me is the idea that Gerard not only had the audacity to choose her over me, but then literally replaced me. He may as well throw me to the curb; once they have sex, I’m done for.   
Lyn-Z has taken the liberty of sucking at Gerard’s neck, and Gerard’s filthy eyes roll back into his skull in ecstasy. When they finally reach the front again, he catches my eye and clears his throat, straightening in his chair. “Hey, man.”  
That’s all he has to say? After everything? “Hi.”  
I grudgingly sit down next to Lyn-Z since she’s in my actual spot and all. I try not to make a big deal out of it, but I must be grimacing because Gerard mentions, “Oh Lyn-Z, you’re in Frank’s spot.” She frowns at Gerard, who in turn chuckles, “I don’t know, he’s real anal about that kind of stuff.”  
I clutch the table’s edge angrily. Who is he to call me anal? Like, excuse me for having flaws. At least I don’t fuck over my best friend for a girl whose name I kind of sort of remember.   
Lyn-Z shuffles to the other side of Gerard, but I don’t claim my now empty seat. Gerard is tense; a vein in his neck flickers for a brief moment.   
Feeling as uncomfortable as everyone else in the table, Lyn-Z tries to make conversation. “Frank, right? I’m Lyn-Z.”  
“Yeah, I got that,” I scowl.  
Lyn-Z looks annoyed, but she must know that I’m Gerard’s best friend and, to get into Gerard’s pants, she’ll have to go through me. She then proceeds, “What kind of music are you into?”  
For some reason, all of this is really pissing me off. “Stuff,” I grumble.  
Gerard shoots me a look, kind of a “what the fuck are you doing” but with more hostility. I couldn’t care less at the moment; I just want everyone to know the precise extent to which I am irritated.   
“Do you like the Misfits?” Lyn-Z asks.   
I open my mouth to say something. Maybe she’s not so bad after all, I mean, she has a nice taste in music.  
That’s when I realize a crucial bit of information. Unable to get an answer from me, she’d just read my band t shirt.   
“No, they fucking suck,” I snap. I stand briskly, swinging my bag harshly onto my back. I start to leave when this urge overcomes me. Not a sexual urge like I’m used to, but more of a mean-spirited type impulse. I add hotly, “Just fuck off, okay?” Barreling away, I mumble loud enough for them to hear, “Stupid cunt.”  
Not knowing where else to go, I retreat to the bathroom. With any luck, I can hang out in here for the rest of the period without any trouble.   
But of course with my luck, trouble finds me. The trouble is a Gerard so angry he’s practically shaking. He barges in, reaching for my collar and grabbing a fistful of my shirt. “What the fuck was that, Iero?”  
“Don’t call me that,” I snarl.   
Pushing me against a wall, Gerard growls, “I don’t think you’re in the position to call the shots right now.” His eyes intense and shoulders broad, he demands, “What the hell was that all about?”  
I don’t want to answer, but Gerard’s practically choking me with how hard he’s pulling up on my collar. Of course I can’t tell him what’s really up, so I rack my brains for an excuse. What comes out isn’t even entirely true. “I don’t like her, Gerard.”  
“So?” Gerard challenges. All but lifting me off the ground, he continues, “I do, and you’re supposed to support me. You’re acting like a real asshole.”   
Without thinking, I punch him hard in the stomach. He releases me, clutching his arms over his gut as tears well in his eyes. I bark, “You’re the asshole!” before storming out.   
I don’t see him for the whole rest of the day. Usually he meets me at my locker, but today he’s not there. I kind of expected that, and a small part of me is almost glad he didn’t show.   
I’m sure I’ll feel very bad about all of this later, as things seem to go, but right now… I don’t. I’m really not sorry for anything I said or did, the pang of rejection is still fresh in mind, and the anger inside has yet to settle. Not only do I not feel bad, but I’m not even neutral about it. I’m mad at Gerard, and I’m a person who never really gets angry. I get annoyed and frustrated sure, but rarely do things get to this point where I want to hurt someone.  
Still hot with rage, I rush home, slamming the door to my bedroom. Not to make sure everyone knows I’m mad, but just with a pure loss of control. I contemplate calling Mikey; maybe he’ll tell me what’s going on from Gerard’s end. I mean, I should be upset about all of this and be asking how he’s doing and all, but that’s not my current motivation. No, I just want to call because the fire’s still there and it won’t go out.   
I’m irritable for the rest of the night, so I do everyone a favor by cutting off my contact without the outside world. In fact, I only leave my room on a few occasions for food and to relieve myself.   
When I lay down for bed that night, I don’t know what will happen the next day. Will Gerard confront me? Or is he done wasting his time on me? I really don’t know at this point, and I could see things going either way.   
All I know about tomorrow is that it will not be good.


	9. Chapter 9

           After my little spat with Gerard, the only thing I can think about is everything that can go wrong. The worst thing that could happen would be something along the lines of a full out fight, which I would probably lose, the fact being that although I’m not weak by any means, Gerard was taller and generally bigger. Other potential outcomes were being cussed out, ignored, and being shot repetitive dirty looks. The best case scenario would probably be Gerard denying any association with me.

            At lunch, I am lost. Out of habit, I peek over at my usual table, to see Gerard and Lyn-Z there. Gerard is talking her up real nice, twirling a lock of her dark hair in between his bony fingers. They’re staring at each other so dotingly that my stomach curdles in protest. A fleeting thought that they might actually be in love occurs to me, but I shove that idea far, far away. I stand there, looking all stupid holding my tray and standing amidst the sea of tables. Gerard looks up, his hazels meeting my own brown eyes. Gerard’s eyes narrow and his expression turns cold. My first instinct is to look away, _quickly_ , but I fight that off, too, returning a glare much more intense before hightailing towards the other side of the cafeteria.

            “What was that all about?” Lyn-Z asks, peering in the direction that Gerard had been staring.

            “Nothing, babe,” Gerard assures. He looks at her, telling, “At least nothing important.”

            I sit heavily at the least intimidating looking table of kids. I want nothing more than to have other friends to sit with, but they just don’t exist. That’s the problem with having just one friend in your designated lunch wave; if they’re gone, you’re fucked. On days where Gerard was sick, I would sit all by myself like some kind of loser. Well, I am a loser, I guess, but I certainly don’t need to promote this.

            The kids he happened to sit by were nothing but some pimply faced freshmen, fresh on the high school chopping block. Then again, they wouldn’t be in a few short months; the last day of school was coming faster and faster. Yes, a new group of susceptible kids would be thrust into the meat grinder that is their high school. They started off whole, but would slowly be pulled apart to ribbons. They could put themselves back together as best as they could, but they would never be the same again.

            The gaggle of teens are all but petrified by me, but then again, I don’t necessarily jump at the chance to talk to them, either. I’m still in a pissy mood, so I don’t really feel like chatting up a bunch of fourteen-year-old kids, who I’m only sitting with because they were so utterly nonthreatening.

            I go through the rest of the day on my own, thinking nothing but bitter thoughts. That night, I fucking cave in. I give into temptation and call up Mikey, who answers his phone on the first ring. “Mikes?”

            “Frank, what the fuck happened?” Mikey demands.

            “What do you mean?” I figure he’s talking about my falling out with Gerard, but it’s been such a stalemate that I doubt that’s what’s raising such concern.

            “Gerard isn’t home,” Mikey tells. “He hasn’t come home, man.”

            I sit up straight in my bed. “What do you mean he hasn’t come home?”

            “Just what you think,” Mikey retorts, his voice quavering. Shit, he’s been crying, and super recently. “I’m worried Frank. It’s fucking eleven at night and for all I know he could be out on Jersey streets, for all I know.”

            “Maybe he’s just at a friend’s house,” I suggest, becoming uneasy myself.

            “Fucking whose? You’re like his only friend, Frank!” Mikey insists. “Besides, he would’ve called. He _always_ calls.”

            “Well, can’t you call the police or something?” I ask. “File a missing person report?”

            “You don’t think I’ve tried that?” Mikey replies incredulously.  “They won’t do anything; they can’t until he’s been missing for a longer amount of time.”

            “Shit, shit!” I cuss. I wring a hand through my hair, asking, “Then what can we do?”

            “Nothing,” Mikey answers. “Just pray that he comes home.”

            That’s when it hits me. “Mikey, I think I know where Gerard is.”

            “Where?” Mikey urges.

            “I’ll bring him home, I promise.” I stand, pulling on a hoodie and grabbing my car keys. “You’re just going to have to trust me on this, bud.”

            “You guys are having a fight!” Mikey protests. “What makes you think he’ll open up to you?”

            I pause, right in the middle of stepping into shoes. “Because I’m his goddamn best friend, that’s why.”

            “Wait!”

            I hang up, silencing my phone before replacing it in my pocket. I rush out the door, running to my car. I get in as quickly as I can, biffing my head on the door frame. I raise one hand to my throbbing head, using the other to put my keys in the ignition. I turn it, waiting for the purr of the engine.

            And all I get are guttural groans. The engine stalls, so I take out the keys, inserting them again and giving another crank.

            Nothing. I slam my hands on the steering wheel, cursing, “Fuck!”

            I chuck my keys at the closed window, getting out and kicking the door shut harshly. Placing my hands onto the roof and burying my face in them, I take a deep breath and pull out my phone.

            It’s a text from Mikey. It reads: please bring him home Frank. I’m counting on you.

            That’s when I take off on foot. Not on foot, actually, more on toes, seeing as I’m running the whole way downtown. That’s right, with my breath sharp and the winds sharper and my Vans occasionally resisting against curbside slush. I see my breath fog before me, then pushing through the cloud and further into the night. I’m going to bring Gerard home, and not just for Mikey, not even for my own assurance. I’m doing it for Gerard, because not only is my best friend, but I do believe he’s my one true soulmate.


	10. Chapter 10

            My immediate guess of Gerard’s whereabouts is less of a guess and more of a certified guarantee. He’s not one to fall upon distress often, but in those few times in his life (like when his grandmother died, for instance), he seeks consolation in the same building, contained in thick brick and stained glass windows.

            The church is quiet at this time of night, as always. The main building as well as the rec area are closed off, locked because you can’t trust that you won’t be robbed in Jersey, even if you are a place of worship. While all these areas are inaccessible, the one place where you can go at any time of night is the small chapel.

            It’s supposed to be reserved for those who have trouble attending church at regular hours, or for individual prayer and reflection. Unfortunately, it mostly serves as an overnight motel for squatters as well as a place to use drugs for teenagers and young adults. This little building kept open for the best intentions falls victim to the worst kind of things; even vandalism wasn’t unheard of. That was the way things seem to go in Jersey; open yourself up for any reason and you will be proved vulnerable. It’s why I, along with many of my friends and casual acquaintances, do our best to cover and repress any sort of emotion with a negative connotation. With kids at our school, those feelings are usually sadness, jealousy, and hurt. Just about anything else is okay, yes, even anger. Hell, kids are almost encouraged to be aggressive where I come from; one look into the hallways and anyone could make that deduction. You’re labeled as weak until you’re violent, and through heated shouting matches and physical outbursts all these kids are striving for the same thing, proof that they are not inferior. I don’t bother with it, but a lot of kids will.

            Breath hot and gurgling in my throat, I wander towards the chapel. I’m still struggling to catch my breath, feeling nauseous almost from how hard I’d ran. I try to collect myself a bit, lengthening my breaths as I press an ear to the door to listen.

            I can’t hear anyone in there, but if Gerard is praying there, he’s doing it quietly for sure. Taking a final deep inhale, I put my weight against the door, opening it with a grating creak of the rusted hinges.

            Sure enough, I see a dark mop of hair bowed forward among the few rows of empty pews. He must not hear me. He gets really focused when he’s praying or even thinking; he’s always been like that. I clear my throat loudly, knocking a fist on a wooden pew a few quick times.

            Gerard jumps, turning in his seat to face me. “Oh, you scared the biscuits out of me.” His eyes wide, he gives a rasp chuckle.

            I giggle a little, nodding my head. “So, prom, huh? You and Lyn-Z excited?”

            “Actually, we’re not going anymore,” Gerard confides. “She broke up with me, I guess. Says that there’s someone else.” Lowering his eyes, he continues, “And she told me that it was after we’d been together but…” he turns his back to me, finishing, “I’m so sure that he was already there, that he was always better.”

            “Gosh, Gerard, I’m so sorry,” I tell softly. “Is that why you…”

            Gerard nods vehemently. “Yeah, I was kinda in a bad place after she told me so I came here.” He gazes around the disheveled, tiny room dreamily, confessing, “I thought I’d come here. It always makes me feel better.”

            I smile, moving towards his pew. I sit next to him heavily, setting my hands on my knees. “I’m real sorry, man. Not just about this, but about everything else.”

            “I’m sorry, too,” Gerard admits. “That was all so stupid.”

            “Mikey sent me here,” I inform. “He was worried.”

            Gerard shrugs. “I figured he would be but… I didn’t want him to come here. I just wanted to be alone.”

            Taking that as a hint, I stand. “In that case, maybe I should go.”

            Just as I turn to leave, I feel a cool hand wrap around my wrist. It’s Gerard, looking at me with those pleading eyes. “Don’t go. I’m glad you’re here.”

            I settle back down next to him, easing myself against the backrest. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”

            We grin at each other for a moment, Gerard’s eyes twinkling. I gradually lean in, bringing my jaw towards his. I kiss him once, gently on the lips. I break it as gracefully as I can, leaving his lips pouted and reaching.

            I ask him, “Still in the mood for prom?”

            Gerard laughs meekly, blushing slightly as he bobs his head. Tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, he answers, “Yeah, that’d be great.”

            Bringing my hand under his chin, I lift his head, guiding his lips towards mine. As we kiss, I snake a hand around his back and down the seat of his jeans, making him smirk against my lips.

            He brings a hand to my shoulder, coaxing me down, lying on the pew with him hovering over me. He dips down to plant some grazing kisses against my neck. I grip onto his ass, making him give a breathy chuckle against my collarbone. “Are we really doing this in a church?”

            “Well,” I begin, trying to talk coherently with Gerard sucking on my neck. “This is a chapel, not the actual church.” I peer around the walls of the chapel, adding, “Besides, worse has gone on in here.”

            “Good enough for me,” Gerard mutters, tugging down the collar of my shirt to expose some chest to nibble on.

            I feel myself start to go hard, and I reach down to palm myself through the rough fabric of my pants. Gerard sees this and gives a devilish smile, tugging down my fly. He works his hand into the opening, grasping around for the slot in my underwear.

            Just then, the glitzing music of David Bowie soars to the rafters. Gerard, turning red with embarrassment scrambles off of me, digging into his front pocket. “Shit, my phone.” He answers, starting, “Mikey, hey.” Gerard withdraws his hand from my pants, threading it through my hair instead. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He looks up, appearing to be listening to whatever it is that Mikey’s saying. It best be damn urgent, seeing as it spoiled the only action I’ve ever had in my life. “Sorry, I just wanted to be alone for a while. I’ll let you know next time, okay?” Gerard rolls his eyes, insisting, “I’m in the middle of something right now, Mikes.” He bites his lip, his eyes suddenly shooting open. He zips my pants back up, standing and grabbing my hand. He drags me out of there, grumbling, “Well, shit, if you’re going to tell Mom.”

            Gerard gets in his car, gesturing for me to join him. “How’d you get here, Frank? Did someone drop you off?”

            I shake my head. “No.”

            Gerard giggles, “Well, how the heck did you get here, then?” He puts his keys in the ignition, fiddling with the radio and heater.

            “Ran.”

            Gerard stops, looking over at me. “You did that for me?”

            I shrug. “It was nothing.”

            Gerard just beams at me once more before leaving the parking lot, driving us both home.


End file.
